All the Time in the World
by cj2017
Summary: A bit of a gap filler and continuation for Killer in High Heels (4X04.)


**Title:**_** All the Time in the World**_

**Author:** cj2017

**Fandom:** _Rizzoli & Isles_

**Rating:** T

**Category: **Gap filler and continuation for _Killer in High Heels_ (4X04). Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Established R/I.

**Word Count:** 3,800

**Notes: **Been a while since I've done this but I _think_ I remember how ;-) This fic is set in my own little universe where R&I are a couple, they just haven't got around to telling anyone yet.

As ever, thanks and love to feroxargentea for her painstaking beta, and a bouquet of something sweet-smelling to laurel_hardy for de-Britishisation. Any remaining mistakes are mine. I might have fudged the timeline a bit – the chronology of this ep was kind of hard to follow.

**Disclaimer:** Don't own a thing. Please don't sue me.

**. . . . .**

_**All the Time in the World**_

**. . . . .**

Jane Rizzoli couldn't find Maura's ketchup. At the end of a day spent investigating and then arresting and processing her own partner, it was the lack of anything to put on her fucking olives that tipped her right over the edge. She sat down in the middle of the kitchen floor, hid her head in her hands, and wept. What started out as sniffles grew into wracking sobs that clogged up her throat and filled her nose with mucus. The noise brought Jo-Friday to her side, and she scooped the dog up, wiping her nose on the warm head that nudged her face.

"Sorry, pup," she muttered, scrubbing at the wet patch with her sleeve. Jo-Friday licked her hand, eager for the salt, and Jane carried her over to the sofa, where they slumped together on the center cushion, Jane staring into space, Jo-Friday chewing on the throw rug.

"Your other mom would not want you doing that," Jane said, but she couldn't really bring herself to care. The blanket smelled like Maura. The whole house smelled like Maura, which was the only reason Jane had gone there. She had told herself that she needed to feed the turtle, but Maura had left plenty of food out and the damn thing was too busy pining to eat anyway. While Maura was spending her first night at the county jail, Jane had planned to curl up in the bed they usually shared, wrap herself in Maura's favorite sweater, and give the turtle an object lesson in what it really meant to pine. Her mini-meltdown had helped to put things into perspective, though; she shook her head in self-disgust. She had files to read through, forensics to review, a list of witnesses to prioritize. Maura was counting on her to do something useful, not sit on her ass and blow her nose on the fucking dog.

"C'mon." She clicked her tongue at Jo-Friday and jogged into the kitchen to collect her car keys. On her way out, she threw down a couple of strawberries for Bass. The token gesture made her feel useful, as if she were just keeping things ticking over until Maura came home. But as she put the key in the lock she found her hands were shaking and her legs didn't seem inclined to hold her up.

"Fuck," she whispered. She rested her head against the door, working to convince herself that Maura _would_ come home, because the alternative was unthinkable. "Fuck."

. . . . .

Jane arrived at the jail within twenty minutes of receiving the phone call. The traffic was light, that late in the evening, but still she didn't want to think what speeds she must have hit to make that time. The truth was, she couldn't even remember what route she had taken. She surrendered her gun and cell phone without an argument, accepted a pass, and followed her escort down a corridor that smelled of unwashed bodies and cheap meat.

"Ten minutes, detective. Then we're moving them over to the cells for lights out."

She nodded in acknowledgement, nerves twisting her stomach into knots as the guard unlocked the holding tank. Through the viewing window she caught glimpses of women in orange jumpsuits, none of whom she recognized. She stepped across the threshold and looked toward the bench on her right, positioned away from the main huddle of women and offering the best vantage point for the door. Immediate movement in the corner told her she had guessed correctly: Maura was already rising to her feet, relief brightening her face. Jane had intended to meet her halfway, but she stopped dead in her tracks and rocked back on her heels as Maura came closer.

"What did—What happened to your face?" Jane touched her fingertips to the contusion spread across Maura's cheek and gathering beneath her eye.

Maura flinched, but immediately tried to cover her reaction. "I need you to get Susie to do another tox screen," she said.

Jane was too angry even to consider the request. She turned to face the other women, who were crowded together in obvious solidarity. She did her utmost to threaten them but no one seemed impressed or intimidated, and at least two of them grinned at her. It was Maura who pulled her back, subtly reminding her that the best way she could help was by solving the case, not by grandstanding for a group of women who could kick the shit out of Maura the instant Jane left the room.

"Which one hit you?" Jane asked. Identifying the culprit would make her feel better—she would have a name to look out for, someone whose life she could stomp all over in her cop-sized boots—but she wasn't too surprised when Maura refused to tell. Her heart sank, though, when Maura mentioned Paddy. That wasn't the name Jane wanted to hear; it just added a new level of crap to a situation that was already pretty fucking crappy.

"That's not good, Maura. Anyone who wants to hurt Paddy will go after you." The words came out strained. While she didn't want to scare Maura, she couldn't let her believe that Paddy's involvement made her untouchable.

The warning obviously hit home; Maura's stoic façade faltered and then crumbled. "Oh God," she whispered.

Jane inwardly cursed herself. Of course Maura didn't think she was untouchable. She already had the black eye to disprove that. There was little else Jane could do but offer a pep talk on self-defense and the banal but heartfelt advice, "Just stay alive." Then the door was opening and the guard was tapping at her watch.

Maura retreated to her corner but her eyes never left Jane's, until the guard came between them and the door slammed shut.

. . . . .

No matter which way Maura turned on the thin mattress, she couldn't get comfortable. The cell was cold and the extra blanket Mary had given her was so threadbare she could see her hand through it. Every movement brought a chorus of squeaks from the bunk's frame, and somewhere down the block a woman was screaming continuously. Giving up on sleep, Maura pushed herself upright and tried not to groan as her back hit the wall. She reached around to the inflamed skin. The mere brush of her fingers against it made her feel sick; sweat broke out on her forehead.

Mary had worked the day shift, which meant Maura had been relatively safe for the first ten hours, but no one from Paddy's crew had signed on to work the night. Despite Maura's allocation to a single cell, it had been easy for another inmate to corner her in the shower block just before lights out. She had researched improvised jail weapons for a case a couple of years ago, but her googled list hadn't included a bar of soap in a sock. It was surprisingly effective, she discovered, and it hurt like hell if your assailant had an accurate swing and a rough idea where your sole remaining kidney was. The guards had missed that particular assault; the attacker's knowledge of the camera coverage was even more comprehensive than her understanding of anatomy. She had relented after the intervention of an older inmate, but she'd left Maura with the threat of more to come.

Maura licked her dry lips and briefly contemplated drinking the water from the sink, before deciding that dehydration was preferable to an upset stomach. She rolled the spare blanket up and slid it behind her as a support. The respite it gave her lasted less than five minutes, but even that was better than nothing. She shifted again, tasting blood as she bit her lip and the skin tore. Everything hurt. Her face throbbed dully, her back burned, and the rape kit had left her sore. She looked and felt like a victim, bruised and shell-shocked, and yet she was the one locked in an eight-by-six cell.

She squeezed her eyes shut, but tears filled them anyway. How could she have been so stupid? She had wanted to raise money for the fund, true, but it had also been pleasant to spend time chatting about postmodern art and fine wine, and Brad had charmed and flattered her. In their conversation, she had never once mentioned Jane; it was unlikely he would have donated a nickel if he'd known she was happily attached to the detective whom everyone had mistaken for a waiter. Instead, she had let Brad believe she was interested, and had gotten him to pledge twenty thousand dollars to the cause. It had been a successful evening—right until the point where he ended up dead.

Raising her hands in front of her face, Maura squinted at them in the blue-gray light and wondered whether she was capable of murder. Base instincts, adrenaline, and cerebral impulses aside, there was only one circumstance in which she could believe it possible: if someone threatened Jane. That would be, as the saying went, a no-brainer. She used her sleeve to dry her face and grimaced at the stink of her jumpsuit. She had nothing left of Jane in here. The guards had taken everything: her clothing, underwear, jewelry. Her skin smelled of disinfectant and cheap soap, and her lips were peeling. She felt as if every part of her that Jane had ever touched had been claimed and tainted by someone else, and it was that, not the cell or the murder charge or the constant fear, that broke her. Ignoring the pain, she curled up onto her side, tucked her face against the pillow, and started to sob.

. . . . .

Maura had never appreciated the benefits of being a mobster's daughter until her first morning in jail. The clamor of voices and the rhythmic bang of cell doors opening dragged her from a restless doze, leaving her clammy and shivering as she waited for her turn. She counted out the minutes, using the numbers to steady her nerves, but the noises faded into nothing and no one came for her. Another ten minutes passed before the lock on her door rattled.

"Mornin'." Mary's eyes narrowed as she looked at Maura. "Rough night."

It wasn't phrased as a question, but Maura felt obliged to answer. "Yes, a little."

"Thought so." Mary crossed the cell in three strides and set a bottle of water, a pack of Tylenol, and a chocolate muffin on the bunk. "Eat the muffin first. It'll settle your stomach for the pills." She waited a few seconds and then pushed the muffin closer. "C'mon, I always crave sweet things when I feel like crap."

All Maura wanted was the water, but when she saw Mary wasn't inclined to leave she unwrapped the muffin and tasted a small piece. It was better that she expected. She took a more enthusiastic bite, followed by half the bottle of water.

"You got your wash kit?" Mary asked.

Maura tried to answer through a chunk of chocolate. "Mmhm."

The jail-issue wash kit comprised soap, a comb, gritty toothpaste, and a toothbrush whose bristles fell out at the slightest provocation. Any additional toiletries, she had been told, had to be purchased with credit points at the inmate-run commissary.

"Stay in here till after breakfast then. Canteen's too big for me to look out for you, and I got no chance in the showers."

Maura nodded, already well aware of the latter point. "Then what happens?"

"Cell cleaning, communal lockdown in the tank, lunch."

Maura swallowed hard; despite the water, her mouth was bone-dry. "Great," she said.

. . . . .

"How long?"

It wasn't the first time Jane had asked. She scowled at the overweight guard, who slurped from a Big Gulp and shrugged one shoulder at her because it would take just too much fucking effort to move both.

"She's being processed out," he said, the words half-muffled by a belch. "It takes time."

"She needs to exchange a nasty orange jumpsuit for a set of sweats. How much time can that take?"

He shrugged the other shoulder at her. Apparently, when it came to shrugging, he was all for equal opportunities. "Maybe a half-hour."

Jane checked her watch. A half-hour. Thirty minutes. It had been three days already. What was another thirty minutes?

An alarm blared and her head shot up, but the guard merely pressed a button to silence it and then went back to crunching ice cubes.

"Who are you waiting for again?" he asked her a few moments later, looking confused.

Jane hoped he had brain-freeze. "Maura Isles. _Doctor_ Maura Isles," she said through gritted teeth. "If someone else walks through that door in the next twenty-seven minutes, I'm not gonna be responsible for my actions."

"Right." A sudden nervous tic fluttered beneath his left eye. "Let me check where she's at."

Jane paced the length of the waiting room, tapped her foot against a chair leg, then paced back. The guard hung up the phone as she approached. He was smiling and the tic had stopped.

"She's on her way down. Misplaced paperwork, happens sometimes." He didn't shrug, which was fortunate because Jane had promised herself she would shoot him if he so much as twitched in that direction. A buzzer sounded and he tapped his security monitor with his straw. "Here she is."

Jane scarcely heard him. All her attention was fixed on the door, which swung open at last, allowing Maura to step through. She didn't hesitate to gather her bearings or check her audience; she just walked straight up and buried herself in Jane's arms.

"Hey sweetheart," Jane said. She kissed Maura's unmarred cheek. "Let's get you home."

. . . . .

Maura's fingers brushed against Jane's as she took the key Jane held out to her. Appreciating the simple symbolism of the gesture, she slid the key into place and unlocked her front door. She had only been in jail for three days, but every decision—when to eat, when to get up, where to go, what to wear, and whether she could go to the toilet—had been made for her, and even after such a short incarceration it was strange to walk into her home free to do whatever she pleased.

"You hungry?" Jane asked. She stood a short distance away, careful not to crowd or push.

Maura shook her head. "No, not really. Just tired." The sun had barely set, but she felt as if she could sleep for a week. She rubbed her face and caught her breath as she hit a tender spot.

Footsteps approached, steady and unhurried, and Jane gently took her hands, lowering them. "Come with me." Still clasping one hand, she led Maura into the bedroom and sat her on the bed. "Try not to fall asleep just yet, okay?"

Maura murmured her agreement. Seconds later, she heard the sound of bathwater running. A faint floral smell drifted toward her from the en-suite and her shoulders drooped as the tension finally began to leave her. She must have dozed off, because the next time she opened her eyes Jane was kneeling by her side and the water had stopped.

"Arms up," Jane said, and pulled Maura's sweater over her head.

Maura fumbled at her bra clasp, but it seemed overly complicated so she left it to Jane and shrugged out of her sweatpants and panties instead. She immediately folded her arms across her chest, the lessons of the last few days prompting her to cover her nakedness, but Jane was already wrapping a robe around her.

"Do you want me to go?"

"No." She popped the first button on Jane's shirt. "Come in with me."

. . . . .

As Jane eyed the bathtub through the steam, the problem was immediately apparent.

"Hell, Maura, I'd have put less water in if I'd known we were sharing."

Perched on the edge of the tub, Maura collected a handful of suds and breathed in their scent. With bubbles crowning the tip of her nose and her hair falling limp around her face, she didn't seem concerned by the prospect of a flood. "So let a little out. Or we could just mop the floor." Her tired eyes lit up as she came to a decision. "I vote for mopping."

"Mopping it is." Jane unfastened the sash on Maura's robe. "Better hang this somewhere, then." She bent to catch up the robe as it fell, but it slipped from her hands as she caught sight of Maura's back. "What the fuck? Maura?"

Maura turned around stiffly, and Jane realized she had been moving like that all night, measured and careful as if she were hurting. Jane had attributed it to exhaustion, but the purple contusion covering a third of her back told another story.

"I got hit," Maura said, and the unadorned brutality of her explanation made Jane's palms start to sweat. "That night, after I saw you."

"Jesus. Why didn't you tell me?"

"What could you have done?"

It was a reasonable question but Jane wasn't really in the mood to be reasonable. "Where the fuck was Paddy's pet guard? She was supposed to be looking out for you."

"The shift had changed over. It happened in the shower block, away from the cameras."

"So you didn't tell _anyone_."

"No."

Jane touched the wound cautiously, feeling Maura tense. The epicenter of the contusion was puffy and swollen, and a sudden terror gripped her as she shifted her touch to the small scars on Maura's opposite side.

"Did you see a doctor?"

Maura gave a slight shake of her head. "I didn't want anyone to know. If I'd asked for a doctor, people would have known."

Jane's pulse beat hard and fast at her temple, but her rage had nowhere to go, no legitimate target; she certainly wasn't going to unleash it on Maura. She shuddered, her breath coming out in a sob as Maura took her hand.

"It could have killed you, Maura."

"I know."

Another sob raised the pitch of Jane's voice. "You already gave away one kidney. You can't go and get sucker-punched in the other."

For a second, Maura simply stared at her. Then she began to laugh, and since Jane figured it was either that or start screaming, she let herself laugh with her.

It was Maura who eventually managed to compose herself.

"Soap in a sock," she said.

Jane arched an eyebrow at her. "Are you fucking delirious?"

"No! It wasn't a sucker-punch. It was a bar of soap in a sock."

"A bar of soap in a sock," Jane repeated, horrified by the visual it conjured.

"I promise I'll call my urologist in the morning," Maura said. With a sigh, she submerged herself in the water, then scooted forward and beckoned Jane to join her. Water and suds sloshed over the side of the tub as Jane inched into the space Maura had made.

She leaned back into Jane's arms. "It doesn't really hurt anymore."

"No?" Jane's hands moved beneath the bubbles. Teasing a trail down Maura's abdomen and across the tops of her thighs, she forced a soft keening sound from Maura that brought goosebumps to the nape of her neck.

"Oh God." Maura whimpered as Jane circled her breasts. "Maybe I won't need to speak to my doctor. It doesn't hurt at all now."

. . . . .

"Soup and toast?" Jane called. The clatter of kitchen cupboards opening and closing punctuated her question. "Oh hey, found the ketchup."

Sitting on the sofa, Maura shook her head and dragged the blanket up to her chin. She was hungry, yet the thought of eating anything left her queasy.

Jane was still offering suggestions. "Mac and cheese? Because I can absolutely make mac and cheese, you just add…" A pause as she read from a packet she must have smuggled into the cupboard at some point. "Water. And stir it a bit."

"Maybe just stick with the water for now." Maura let out a long breath as the menu ideas ceased and she heard ice cubes clinking into a glass instead.

"Here." Jane placed the iced water on the table and sat beside Maura. "You doing okay?" she asked, quietly.

"I'm fine," Maura said, but she felt her bottom lip begin to tremble, and her hand shook as she reached for the glass.

Jane placed her palm against Maura's cheek and caught the first tear with her thumb. "You don't have to be brave, Maura. There's only me here."

"I'm not brave," Maura said, more tears slipping free. "I spent the last two nights crying for you."

Jane kissed Maura's cheeks, her nose, anywhere the tears fell. Then she touched her lips to Maura's. "You're the bravest person I know," she murmured.

Maura put her hands behind Jane's head and pulled her closer, turning a soft kiss into something deeper. She felt Jane smile, and she broke contact just so she could see her. Jane was often bashful or embarrassed by attention, but she sat perfectly still beneath Maura's scrutiny. After a moment, Maura leaned in and kissed her again.

"I missed you," she said when they drew apart. "I thought…for a while there I thought I might have killed him, that I was guilty, and then all I could think about was you and how I'd never be able to come home to you, that we'd never be able to have this again…" She trailed off, gasping and dizzy.

"Shh," Jane said. She didn't try to reason or placate, she just shuffled over a little and placed a cushion on her knee. "Lie down."

Maura offered no resistance. She sank her head onto Jane's lap and closed her eyes at the first pass of Jane's fingers through her hair.

"Go to sleep," Jane told her.

Maura yawned, but a sudden rush of insecurity made her look up again. "Will you stay here?"

Jane's knees rocked as she laughed softly. "No, I'm going to sneak out for a beer at the Dirty Robber." Her hand never stopped its gentle movement. "Of course I'll stay here."

Maura smiled and settled again. "Just for a while," she whispered. "Then we'll go to bed."

"There's no rush," Jane said, and her voice seemed to come from a great distance, the words faint but reassuring as Maura drifted into sleep. "Sweetheart, we've got all the time in the world."

. . . . .

End

. . . . .

For anyone who might be interested in reading some of my original f/f fiction: my first two novels, _Snowbound_ and _Desolation Point_ (written under the pen name Cari Hunter), are available to buy at Bold Strokes Books and Amazon. _Tumbledown_ – a follow-up to _Desolation Point_ – is set for release in 2014. More details can be found on my author profile.


End file.
